


First Meeting

by Ryu_No_Joou



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryu_No_Joou/pseuds/Ryu_No_Joou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone in a new place, Sirius makes a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Meeting

A hard, freezing rain pelted Markarth’s inhabitants, no one having the time to stop for even a polite nod of the head as they rushed to get out of the deluge. No one spared a word or a glance for the tall Imperial who slogged through the streets, drenched to the skin. Sirius sneezed, swiping at his running nose, looking around unhappily. The citizens of Markarth seemed gloomy, hostile, and focused on their own business - no one had the time or the desire to give directions to a foreigner. Miserably, he wound through the marketplace, scanning his surroundings for some reprieve from the weather.

At last, an inn! He crossed a small footbridge and peered up at the sign. “Silver-Blood Inn”. He pushed open the door and was immediately rewarded by warmth, light, and the good smells of food and ale. Stepping inside, Sirius moved aside and drew a cloth from his pack, wiping his face and arms and making an attempt to squeeze the water from his hair. The barkeep regarded him sourly as he dripped on the floor, and Sirius decided it would be time to put his powers of persuasion to good use.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized, approaching the bar. “I’ll have whatever’s available.” He pressed gold into the barkeep’s palm, much more than was needed for a simple meal. His bribe was rewarded with a smile. 

“Right away, traveler.” Soon, the barkeep had ladled up a big, steaming bowl of venison stew and presented it to Sirius with a bottle of ale and sliced bread. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks.” Taking his food, the Dragonborn sought out a place to sit and warm up. A chair was free by the fire and he collapsed into it gratefully, dragging it as close to the hearth as he could. Eagerly he wolfed down his meal, unaware of the glances others threw his way. Most people in Markarth regarded outsiders with suspicion, moreso these days after a woman murdered in the market was revealed to be an Imperial spy intent on procuring Cidhna Mine for General Tullius. 

Across from Sirius, a young man nursed a tankard of mead, looking over its rim at the newcomer. His gaze was drawn irresistibly to the newcomer, who was dressed in leather armor and a ragged grey cloak. His long black hair hung in damp strings, framing a gaunt, tired face with high cheekbones and intense grey eyes. Leaning against his chair was a sword in an incredible sheath, made of ebony and some kind of bone. Vorstag studied it for a minute, frowning, before looking up to see the stranger’s eyes on him.

“S-sorry,didn’t mean to stare,” he said, caught off guard. Sirius smiled a little. The Nord was broad and muscular, with shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes. A Nordic tattoo decorated his cheek, and he was dressed in scaled armor, a battered iron war axe and shield resting against his chair. He looked no different than other Nords, but there was something about him, a kind of air that made Sirius feel as if he was approachable. His voice was attractive, slightly accented and with a tiny lisp, none of the coldness in it that Sirius usually heard from Skyrim’s inhabitants. He plowed forward.

“It’s okay, ha, I must look a fright,” Sirius said sheepishly, pushing his hair back. Silver hoops glinted in his ears and the firelight glinted off a ring he wore. “It’s coming down pretty hard out there.”

“Mind your step when you go out. The stonework here gets slippery in such hard rains,” Vorstag cautioned him. He chuckled a little, Sirius delighting in the sound. “The Dwemer, of course, never expected it to get wet!”

There was a note of excitement in the man’s voice and Sirius longed to listen to him more. The roads of Skyrim were lonely without his Housecarl Lydia’s chatter (she had been injured in battle and Sirius insisted she stay home to heal), and he missed having a companion in this unfamiliar land. “No, I suppose they didn’t. Can you tell me anything about the city’s history?”

Vorstag lit up. The Dwemer were his favorite subject, something he loved to read about and hear about, and someone was asking…! “Markarth expanded from the depths of Nchuand-Zel, the great city under the Keep. It was quite a wonder in its time, with great archives and unlimited silver ores… ores we still dig up today. I’ve never been inside Nchuand-Zel itself, but I hear from workers who have that there are still artifacts and living automatons down there!” His eyes shone. “Someday I’d love to explore it. All of them, you know.” He smiled wistfully. “There are many Dwemer cities and ruins scattered across Skyrim, but I’ve never had the chance to see them.”

Sirius had to smile at the man’s enthusiasm. “There are a lot of ruins in Morrowind, as well. Especially on the island of Vvardenfell - the biggest is easily Dagoth Ur, in the Red Mountain region. I got turned around in there so many times-”

“Wait.” Vorstag frowned. “Vvardenfell? Isn’t that a wasteland now? How did you go there?”

“Oh.” Sirius stopped. “Uh, right, I just-” The Nord was looking at him skeptically, and Sirius swallowed. “It was… a long time ago.”

“You’re lying,” Vorstag accused. “No one has been there in over two hundred years.”

“Well, yeah.” Sirius sighed heavily. “It was two hundred and six years ago, actually-”

“You expect me to believe that?” The conversation was fast turning sour, and Sirius cursed internally.

“No, sorry.” He stood, reaching for his sword, planning to leave before the formerly kind Nord decided to fight him over his story. “Forget it.” As he strapped on the sword, the fire again caught the ring he wore. Vorstag squinted at it, seeing a silver crescent moon and golden star. 

“Hey. Stop, is that…” He looked up at the Imperial. “It’s a Dwemer-made ring, isn’t it? Moon-and-Star, right?”

Sirius was startled. “Uh… yeah. How did you-”

“I’ve seen drawings of it in books about the Dwemer,” Vorstag said, standing as well. “It was made by Kagrenac’s smiths and blessed by Azura.. but how did you…” Realization dawned. “Are you the Nerevarine?” he asked, loudly, drawing stares from other patrons.

Sirius sat, motioning for Vorstag to do the same. He waited until the others had returned to their conversations before nodding. “I didn’t expect anyone to know that name here.”

“The Nords and the Dunmer have become a little friendlier, but we’ve never forgotten Nerevar and his armies. And I told you, I read about it. Not all the books dwelt on ancient history. One of the books - “Artifacts of Tamriel” - talked about great artifacts that have appeared in modern times…. Auriel’s Bow, Azura’s Star, Stormfang - and it talked about the ring being currently in the possession of the Nerevarine. It was an old book so I didn’t think anything of it, I thought it was in a museum or something…” Vorstag trailed off, looking up at Sirius with an awed expression. “Then you’re the Hero of Kvatch, too.”

“It’s not something I advertise,” Sirius said softly, and Vorstag realized he’d touched a nerve. “A lot of people think it’s a glamorous life, being a hero, but it’s not. It’s lonely, it’s hard, it’s depressing. I’ve seen a lot of good friends die. I’m older than I should have ever been and it makes me tired, and I am pushed on and on by something… some force. Azura, the Divines, I don’t know, something keeps telling me to go on, and keep fighting. As tired as I am, I just want to sleep. But I was sent here and now I’m up against these dragons…” 

Dragonborn too? Vorstag’s mind reeled. But he could almost see the enormous weight on the man’s shoulders, and as he spoke could plainly see the sorrow in his eyes. He felt ashamed for prying. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You didn’t know.” Sirius stood again. “But I think it’s time for me to go.”

“Oh.” Disappointed, Vorstag watched Sirius heft his pack. Not long ago another exotic stranger had appeared in the tavern and provided Vorstag with conversation and a smile; Vorstag had always regretted not being able to travel with the Bosmer. Now the same opportunity had come again, a way of getting out of Markarth, a way to see new things and cast side his painful memories. He would be foolish to throw away this chance.

“Wait.” He jumped to his feet, holding out his hand. “I didn’t get your name.”

Sirius smiled, turning back and shaking Vorstag’s hand firmly. “Sirius.”

“I’m Vorstag. Some call me a mercenary, but I like to think of myself as a freelance adventurer for hire."

“Really?’ Sirius looked him over once more. “Are you for hire now, then?”

Vorstag shrugged. “If you've got the gold to pay my fee, then my sword-arm is yours." He looked down at his weapon. “Or axe-arm, if you prefer.”

Things were looking better and better. Sirius dug through his coin purse. “Well, then, how’s 500 gold sound?”

“That's a fair price. My blade is yours." Vorstag pocketed the gold and strapped on his shield. Sirius watched. It was a hefty fee he couldn’t exactly afford right now, but something inside him had sparked upon talking to the Nord, and he wanted to get to know him better. He seemed like he would be good company on the long roads, until Lydia recovered from her injury. Together they left the inn to find the rain had stopped, and they headed out, not knowing their lives had just changed.


End file.
